


A Companion's Choice

by marlowe_tops



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alliance Q, Alternate Universe - Firefly Verse, Companion Bond, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marlowe_tops/pseuds/marlowe_tops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elite Companion James Bond takes a client who turns out to be a wealthy inventor for the Alliance who isn't able to leave his gilded cage. The client asks to feel safe, cherished, and to fall in love, although they both know James can't stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Companion's Choice

I am met at the dock by uniformed guards rather than my client.

There’s always a split second when I see guards and soldiers coming toward me that I hesitate. Never can be sure whether they’ve come to escort me or arrest me. Years ago, the odds would have been tipped in favor of the arrest.

But I am here on legitimate business. I have a client, and that client has guards.

I smile graciously at my escort, as if it is not an insult that I am picked up at the dock like baggage. My client is wealthy and powerful, but does not deign to meet me himself.

The dock is quiet and efficient. Gray-suited soldiers and employees whisk in and out of ships and doorways. They know their business and don’t talk. I’m used to docks on the outer ring, where everything is boisterous and lively, or the shining capitols of the wealthier inner planets, where business is delicate and refined. This place is formal to an extreme that makes me uncomfortable.

They guide me to a transport pod, where we are whisked through what appears to be miles of one solid building. It’s one of the greatest science facilities of the Alliance, with laboratories, dormitories, supply, production, testing… The place goes on and on, and that only from the limited intel I could get. The security clearance of this place is above even my ability to access, but today I have been invited in by one of its inhabitants.

Our pod stops on an upper floor, and I am permitted into a sterile white antechamber. The guards leave me there without a word. I’ve had more cordial receptions in hostile enemy war zones.

But I am here at my client’s pleasure, so I wait.

I don’t have to wait long. A serving boy in a pair of coveralls peeks his head curiously through an inner door. I am not who he expects to see.

After a moment I realize he must think the same of my reaction. This is my client. I recognize his image from the photograph. The smudge of grease on his nose is new.

“They let you in,” he blurts.

Remembering my manners, I approach him with hand extended and my most diplomatic smile. “I am a Companion,” I remind him, unnerved by the thought of any place where Companions are not welcome. “My name is James Bond.”

He takes my hand and meets my eyes. His grip is light and uncertain, his gaze lost and desperate, making it easy to know what kind of service he seeks from me.

“Q,” he says, after a long pause. He isn’t accustomed to using his manners, I see, in addition to the obvious loneliness. Do they ever let him out of this ivory tower?

The letter is the same designation that was given on the assignation. It isn’t a name. His name, it would seem, is classified.

Keeping hold of his hand and his eyes, I rub my thumb in slow circles along the inside of his wrist. He relaxes at the touch, focus narrowing to my face, and I know that I’ve guessed right about what he wants.

“Why don’t we sit down and discuss your preferences?” I suggest, keeping my thumb where it is.

He is unable to look away, which is exactly what I want. “Yes,” he said, a blush flooding his cheeks. His mind and manners catch up with him and he pulls his hand away, flustered, holding the door for me to enter into his suite.

Industrial steel walls and hard white furniture form the skeleton of his suite. For flesh and muscle he has added a clutter of technological projects. Half-built mechanisms and gears occupy chairs and tables, huddling in nooks like a routed army.

There is nothing soft in the room, which might be why he’s left no place to sit. The only comfort he has been permitted is the view. Through the broad wall of glass, the facility stretches for as far as we can see. White metal and glass are tinted pink by the setting sun, giving the cold, sterile facility a sense of artificial warmth.

I’m intrigued by the view, but more interested in him. I watch as he realizes that there is no place for me to sit. So, he doesn’t often receive visitors. I wonder why I have been allowed as an exception.

“This way,” he decides, showing me into the bedroom. The bed is as white and impersonal as the rest of the room, but it’s been left untidy, which gives it a sense of familiarity and warmth. There’s one chair and a little table pressed up against the window, with a forgotten mug of tea and a little splay of papers.

The entire place is an unnerving intersection of wealth and imprisonment. My best guess is that they pay him well but don’t allow him to leave, and the occasional Companion is allowed because we are known for our discretion. Maybe there isn’t much else that he’s able or allowed to spend his money on.

He stops halfway between bed and door, looking down at the rumpled bedsheets in a sort of passive, accepting despair. My status accustoms me to luxury and formality. This sad little room and the lack of any available hospitality might be an insult, if it weren’t so pitifully genuine.

I can’t allow him to start thinking about it. I’m here to provide him a respite from such things.

Clasping his elbow, I step close behind him and press a soft kiss to the back of his neck. I hear his lips part on the softest of gasps, and his body stiffens in surprise only an instant before relaxing into my hold.

“Close your eyes,” I murmur. I can’t see his eyes, but I see the slight incline of his head and feel the tiny shift in his balance that tells me he has obeyed.

My thumb rubs a gentle circle over his elbow, while my other arm hooks around his waist to pull him closer. “Tell me what you want,” I command.

His body has relaxed against me, pliant and trusting. He clears his throat, finds words. “I want to feel safe,” he confesses. “Cherished. I’d like to fall in love, even though I know perfectly well I can’t keep you. Catharsis, if I can have it.”

“You can,” I promise.

People fall in love with Companions constantly. It seems like every third assignation ends in a marriage proposal. But I’ve never had a client ask to fall in love with me with the explicit condition that he knows I’ll never agree to stay. I don’t think I could, even if I agreed. His facility wouldn’t allow that.

My hand slides down his elbow to his wrist, locking it firmly in my grip. I bend it behind his back, holding him securely but gently, and he relaxes further into my control.

“For the duration of my stay,” I tell him, keeping my voice a low rumble in his ear, “you belong to me. Everything I say to you is only true until our time is up. Is that clear?”

His shoulders press back against my chest, and his hair brushes my cheek as he nods silently. I’m going to give him the catharsis he needs and leave him with a broken heart, because he has asked it of me.

“Good,” I say, keeping my tone warm enough that he’ll hear it as praise. My lips trail over the side of his neck, and when he makes an almost inaudible little sound of pleasure, I pull him possessively close.

“You are mine,” I inform him. His free hand reaches up, hesitantly brushing my arm, and I immediately catch it, trapping it against his chest. His pulse spikes at that, but his body only nestles closer against me. “I intend to take my time with you. I will possess you fully.”

He says nothing, because I didn’t ask it as a question. I wonder whether he’s naturally obedient, or if he’s asked for this before. If he had, he should have known how to be more specific in his request.

Pleased with his willingness, I ask the question that he didn’t answer, because I need him to trust that I _will_ ask. “Would you like that?”

“Yes.” It’s more exhalation than word, but there’s no hesitation in it. “Please.”

I release his hands but keep him pressed against me, my lips still against his throat, as I begin to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Hands slack at his sides, he allows me to do as I please. I have his trust now, and there’s no question of how desperately he wants to be under my control.

When I reach the last button, I spread my palms flat across his belly. His skin is smooth and nearly hairless, and so very pale. I wonder when he last got to sit in real sunlight.

Turning him to face me, I guide his shirt off his shoulders and toss it to the side, and then I place his hands on my necktie. Getting the idea, he smiles at me as he unties it and slicks it off my neck. It goes the way of his shirt, and he begins on my buttons without prompting. The task seems to relax him. He is sweet and eager to please, and he has given me all of his trust and vulnerability within minutes of meeting me.

I keep my hands on his hips, so that he will know that he is still mine as he finishes unbuttoning my shirt. One at a time, I offer him my wrists, and he unclasps the cufflinks with delicate fingers.

He submits beautifully. I can’t imagine what this place must do to someone’s spirit, but his sweetness is undamaged.

Within minutes of meeting him, I find myself compromised.

It isn’t the first time I’ve grown fond of a client. I often do, to be honest. I think it’s a Companion’s trait. We love all of our clients, in our own way and for our own reasons. I knew a Companion who told me that she had too much love in her heart to share with only one person. That is not the case with me, but I find my own comfort in giving others what they need.

He strips the shirt from my body, then the undershirt, and then he is faced with the broad, scarred expanse of my chest. I get to see his eyes widen with shock at the sight. Fingertips reach up toward the worst of the scars, at my shoulder, but he stops himself before he touches and pulls his hand back quickly.

“I’m not an average Companion,” I point out, though I thought we both knew that to begin with. Companions are more frequently female, and I am past the common age of retirement. Worse, I came to the profession late in life, because I could not continue what I did before.

Finding a little bit more boldness, because I didn’t forbid it, he lets himself touch the scar at my shoulder. He is reverent of my body, even the damaged parts. That’s flattering. I’m a niche request, for those clients who are inexplicably seeking a washed-up war hero of a lover, and it’s a pleasant compliment that someone so young and beautiful finds me desirable.

Clasping his jaw firmly in my hand, I lean in and take a very light, gentle kiss. My grip makes clear that I will control the depth and duration of the kiss, and I keep my hand there even when my lips have pulled away. “Undress the rest of the way and lay down on the bed.”

He blushes, but as soon as I release him he obeys without question.

“On your belly,” I clarify, as he climbs onto the bed and hesitates. He obeys, resting his head on his hands.

I pause to admire the view for a minute before I unclasp my belt, letting him hear the sounds of me untying my shoes and leaving my trousers in a small pile on the floor. In a drawer by the bed, I find a bottle of oil that will serve my purposes. Obedient as ever, he stays put while I join him on the bed and lock my thighs on either side of his hips to keep him still.

Incredibly, I don’t think he’s expecting the massage. It strips away the possibility that he’s had other Companions here. They would have done this for him. They would have recognized how much he needed it.

His shoulders are tight, and he arches in surprise at my touch before dissolving into whimpers and moans. It’s breathtaking how sensitive and responsive he is. As my fingers track his muscles, he shudders and mews beneath me. His body is as tense as it is fragile, but he is unmarred and pale, unlike myself.

We have all night. I take my time with him, unraveling pain and pleasure from his muscles. I know how to relax and arouse at once, and I never let him have so much of the former that he’s at risk of forgetting the latter. By the time I have worked from his neck all the way down to the soles of his feet, he is pliant and eager beneath me. His muscles are acceptably relaxed, and I can see a glimpse between his legs of his fully hard cock pressed against the sheets.

Parting his legs a little wider. I settle onto my knees between them and pat his thigh gently to get his attention. “Up on your knees, love,” I order him, aiding him by lifting his hips. He cooperates automatically, shifting his knees to catch his weight when I let go.

His breath is steady, with the occasional catch of arousal, and his thighs hold without shaking. Pleased with my progress, I resume my massage. This time, my focus is entirely upon his arse. There are knots of tension in his hips and the crease of his thighs that I know how to seek out, mingled with light brushes across his most sensitive areas, until his hips are rolling wantonly into my touch.

“More,” he begs at last, with a pretty whimper at the end of the word.

Renewing the oil upon my hands, I guide one finger within him. A sharp gasp escapes his throat, hips rutting once toward me with desperation. 

“Still,” I order him, clenching my free hand tightly around his hip to reinforce the command. “Let me.”

Nodding understanding, he relaxes again and accepts whatever I want to do with him. 

Keeping one finger just barely within him, I press my thumb against his rim, massaging that tight ring of muscle by pinching it between finger and thumb. I see his fingers tighten in the bedsheets, the relaxation and arousal setting all his nerves spinning, just the way I want. 

It’s a pleasure to watch him come apart beneath me as I explore and stretch the muscles within him, opening him up and keeping him shivering under a constant assault of sensation. Two fingers deep within him hook against his prostate, massaging steady circles over the spot while my other hand works his rim. I want him to come like this alone. I want to show him that he can. 

He is incoherent and mewling, having long forgotten the command to stay still, and having all but forgotten his own name. I play him on my fingers, controlling each movement by learning his triggers and reactions. When he comes for me, he’s past words or even cries. He spills himself on the sheets because I press that trigger, and I keep my fingers where they need to be to draw out the waves of his pleasure. 

When I let go, he falls against the bed, gasping for breath. Eyes closed and head no doubt spinning, he is completely vulnerable for me. 

Settling myself atop him, I let him feel the heat of my erection against the cleft of his arse. My arms tuck under his torso, supporting just enough of my weight so that he will not be uncomfortable, but leaving enough that he will feel well and truly trapped and possessed.

I hold my place there as he recovers, waiting for him to begin to react. If he sleeps, then I will watch over him and keep him safe and warm, but I do not think he will sleep. Not quite yet.

He comes back to himself enough to shift beneath me. I hear his breath catch as his movement causes my cock to settle a little more securely into his cleft, and the slight press of his spine against my chest as he understands that I am immovable. 

I’ve left him with no space even to writhe against me, and I continue waiting as he comes to that realization. I want him to know that we are doing this at my pace, on my terms. At any point, he can stop me and change the terms of this, but I think he wants to forget that. 

When he has processed his position, he relaxes, which tells me that I’m right. He makes one soft, pleased little sound, and shifts his arm to catch my fingers. Bending his head, he kisses my knuckles. It’s both thanks and permission, though I’m not sure he realizes that. He’s deep within my control, and I’m fairly certain that I have him well past all conscious thought, which means that it’s now my responsibility to keep him safe and satisfied. 

Pleased with his submission, I lift up enough to reach for the oil again. He stays where he is, understanding that I require his obedience above all. 

Generously applying oil to my length, I settle back down and press the head of it against his entrance, holding there. He gasps and rolls his hips against me, but he can’t get far with my weight against him. 

“Please,” he murmurs. He’s incapable of further words, which is how I want him.

Rewarding his plea, I shift my hips very slightly forward. His relaxed muscles part for me and he moans. 

Pausing there, I tuck my arms back beneath his chest, supporting myself and holding him. Incrementally, I let my weight settle upon his hips, pushing deeper and deeper within him. When I encounter any resistance in his muscles, I pause and pull back, nudging my way deeper with coaxing little rocking motions, until he opens for me.

His breath has quickened by the time I am fully settled, and I can feel his muscles tensing and spasming against me as his body adjusts to the invasion. I could have done this differently, so that he would experience no discomfort at all, but I want him to feel powerless. I very much doubt that Q would respond well to pain in the bedroom, but this will give him the catharsis he wants without ever making him feel unsafe.

Given no choice but to adjust for me, he sighs and relaxes patiently, letting me do whatever I please. His hand has taken possession of mine again, and I can tell that he’s relaxed enough when he begins brushing wet kisses across my knuckles. 

“Good boy,” I murmur in his ear, rolling my hips so that he gasps and writhes beneath me. “I have you. You’re all mine.”

Whimpering gratefully, he shivers beneath me as I set up a steady pace. My angle doesn’t allow for much thrusting, but I’ve chosen it because it allows me to grind relentlessly against his still-sensitive prostate. 

It will take longer to get him to a second prostate orgasm, but we’re in no hurry, and I want to keep him drifting in this headspace as long as I can. 

Languid with relaxation and pleasure, he stays still for the most part and lets me do as I please. Occasionally he presses his shoulders up against me or rocks his hips, as if to confirm that he’s still powerless and trapped, and each time he sighs contentedly and subsides again. 

I can tell that he’s getting closer by the way his whimpering becomes more urgent, and his grip on my hand tightens. Merciless, I keep my angle and only increase my pace. 

My job and personality allows for very little consideration of my own pleasure, but this--this is exactly how I like things, and I want to keep this up forever. I want to explore my Q, and all his physical and emotional reactions. I want to keep him within my power and make him mine entirely.

This time, he screams as he comes beneath me. I’ve forced him to an intense, full-body orgasm, and his body shudders and bucks beneath me, trapped completely by my weight. I fuck him through it, slamming into his prostate with every thrust until he’s utterly spent and helpless, making only weak little gasps and response. 

Shifting my angle then, I take my own pleasure. I know he’s only just conscious enough to realize it, but I want him to hear and feel me come above and within him. 

When I’ve finished spilling my seed within him, I hold there for a minute as we both recover. 

Gently, I tip my head to nip the curve of his ear, murmuring huskily: “You are everything I want.”

He’s past words and only half conscious. With the greatest care, I pull out and settle beside him, kissing his shoulder. “I’m going to clean us up,” I inform him. Pressing a warm hand to his back to reassure him that I’ll be back, I rise and move to the bathroom to fetch a wet cloth.

I don’t dare leave him for long while he’s this vulnerable. Returning immediately, I clean between his legs and his belly. His limbs are weak and useless in the aftermath of pleasure, but he does his best to shift with me as I move him. 

Spreading a dry towel across the wet spot on the bed, I get him settled under the covers and tuck myself behind his back. He makes a tiny noise of gratitude as I hug him close, my arms solid and possessive, and then he falls into sleep.

I need no sleep tonight. After a couple of hours, I shift him onto his back and nestle my hand into his hair. I don’t know how much he needs his sleep, but I do know that he needs memories of tonight to keep and cherish.

Softly, I begin to kiss him. He’s fast asleep, which means that I get to enjoy every shift in his breath and body as he starts to wake and his mouth begins to open for me. He’s still half unconscious when he begins to kiss me back. Long before he understands what’s happening, he returns the kiss, and that is all I want from him. 

At last, his arms slide up, hooking around my neck, and I know he’s awake. 

Breaking the kiss, I smile down at him, watching his face in the light that radiates from the artificial world outside his window. He smiles back at me, relaxed and trusting, and I know I’ve achieved everything he asked of me.

He feels safe and cherished. He’s gotten the catharsis he needed.

He is in love with me.

I kiss him again. His body will still be weak and sore, and I can feel the occasional tremor in his legs and fingertips, distant aftershocks from the intense set of orgasms I gave him. I’m pleased by his trust and submission that he doesn’t try to offer himself. He just lets me kiss him, and lets himself enjoy it. He expects nothing, only trusts that I’ll take care of him.

We have all night. I kiss him for an hour, until the arousal of it has overcome his sore, weary body, and his kisses become urgent and wanton. 

He’ll let me do anything I like with him.

When his need overcomes his exhaustion, I lift away from him and gather him into my arms. He trusts me now, and rests his arms around my shoulders, watching my face with calm faith as I carry him into the bathroom. 

His legs are unsteady as I set him on his feet, so I use my weight to pin him against the shower wall as I turn the water on. 

Icy water hits my shoulders, not his, and I don’t let him move until I have the water temperature the way I want it.

And I realise, as I draw him into the gentle roar of water, that I have already weighed his value and my temptation. My commission has not ended, but I know I have the opportunity to take advantage of the water drowning out all sounds beyond the glass shower walls.

“I want to steal you,” I whisper.

He tenses in my arms, and lifts his head not quite high enough to see my eyes. “Don’t say that. It’s cruel.”

“Because I told you that everything I say to you is only true until our time is up?”

There is a delay before he nods, eyes averted and motion almost imperceptible. Now I have confirmation that he is here against his will. I know how valuable he is.

The galaxy is a big place. I know places we might disappear. I could tuck him away somewhere, keep him safe. Or I could escape with him and go rogue, leave my life as a Companion behind for a rougher life getting by with whatever odd jobs the two of us could manage. I know people who would take us in.

“What if I steal you before our time is up?”

Surprised, he looks up quickly, studying my face to find out if I’m being sincere. I smile back at him, hoping that he sees reassurance in my eyes.

“How much access do you have to their systems?” I ask.

I know he must be questioning if this was my plan all along. If I came here to steal him, and if I already have a new cage and a new owner waiting for him. But he has no choice—I’ve made him trust me, and stolen his heart.

Eyes still studying mine, he answers at last, “I can shut them down for a couple of hours, at least. But the guards…”

I saw all I needed to know of their security on the way in. “Let me handle the guards. I have a ship. We’ll need one transport pod and a way to open the hangar dock.”

He tilts his head in thought for a moment before nodding. “I can do that.”

I don’t doubt that he can. The risk is huge, for both of us. Our skills combined can get us both out safely, but after that we’ll be hunted. For the rest of our lives, most likely.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I promise, unable to resist stealing another kiss.

“Do you mean it?” he asks. “Now?”

“It’s the middle of the night,” I confirm. “Now.”

A touch of spirit shows in his grin for a moment, and he nods, committing himself to my plan. I let go of him—I’m following his lead now—and he climbs out of the shower, drying off. He keeps his movements slow and languid, which makes me suspect that he knows that he’s under video and audio surveillance. I follow him back out, and he waves a hand at me before sitting down at a console. “Just a minute.”

Curious and needing to help maintain his illusion that we are still simply sex-addled lovers, I lean over him and brush kisses along the side of his neck.

It takes him mere minutes before he suddenly sits up straighter. “There. My hack worked. I’ve blacked out their systems and locked all access codes but my own. We need to go, and quickly.”

“Good man,” I praise him, letting go and swiftly finding my clothing. “Take only what you need. I’ll take care of the guards.” 

Nodding, he presses a few last keys and jumps up, dressing hurriedly and grabbing a bag.

I leave him to it. There are no alarms. The lights are steady, and through his windows, the facility looks the same as ever. He’s better than I expected, if these are his results. Either no one has noticed the change, or he’s locked out their ability to set off the alarms.

Picking up a heavy metal rod from one of his projects that should serve my purpose, I let myself out into the antechamber. There’s a pod waiting, but the door is locked. That doesn’t yet give me cause for concern.

A slender, dark-haired blur passes me, his fingers typing rapidly at the keypad. The pod opens for us, and he ducks inside, resuming his rapid typing on the interior keypad. 

He’s had this plan in his mind for years. Just waiting for a chance, all this time. A ship, and a skilled fighter. I suspect he could have pulled it off with either alone. 

When the pod lands, he starts to step out, and I haul him back. I trust that he’s gotten us to the dock, but I have reason to believe that there may be guards. 

“My ship’s to the left, or should be. Can you open the doors?”

“If you get me to an access panel.”

I had a chance to scope out the deck earlier. I think I know what he needs. 

By night, the dock is quiet and dimly-lit. I drop my hand on the back of his neck, firm and possessive, forcing him to either revert to submissive or to openly fight me. Trusting, he relaxes, and lets me lead him out of the pod at a wobble, as though we’re just a couple of drunks not worth anyone’s notice. 

“You there!”

I ignore it, steering Q up in front of the access panel he needs and letting go. He sets to work without hesitation, and I shift my grip on my weapon, spinning around just as the guard reaches us to demand identification. His head cracks with a wet sound, and Q’s done, turning his back on my kill without looking. 

On the far side of the hangar, the access door begins to open. 

“Run,” I suggest, nudging him toward my ship.

He darts, faster than I am by a few steps, and tucks himself in the shadow of my ship while I unlock my ship and open the ramp. More shouts and a quiet, distant alarm are haunting our steps, but they’ll be too late. Leaving Q to sort himself, I turn on the engine and get my ship fired up.

A platoon of guards scrambles into the hangar just as we’re lifting off, and Q drops into the chair next to me, leaning over the console to look, as we sweep out through the door and lift up into the sky.

~

Q sleeps in the chair next to me, curled up and looking terribly young and vulnerable. I’ve stolen him away, and now I am his owner and his cage, or his freedom and his protector. I’m not yet sure which way he’ll see it, a few years down the line.

“Q,” I say, to wake him.

He sits up with a start, looking scared and lost until he remembers where he is. Relaxing again, he looks over at me.

“The night is over. Our time is up.”

He gives me a wary smile, not sure whether or not it’s a joke. “Are you going to take me back and turn me over with an apology, now?”

Letting the ship cruise, I stand up and take a step over to his chair so that I can kiss him. “I thought I might just keep you, instead.”

He smiles, eyes lighting with hope, and leans up to accept the kiss.


End file.
